My therapist knows so much about you, but the next time I tell her what you've been up to, I'll have to tell her about how sad you got. I'll have to tell her your funerals coming up. Suicides not supposed to be poetic, but you're so beautiful even when you're bleeding out. It's hard to find words that don't sound pretty when they're said about you. I hope the flowers grow from your eyes. They'll grab the notches in your spine.